Bottoms Up

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jacksonville, FL

THEY’D SLEPT LATE, for a couple of Navy guys, but were on the road by eight and had stopped for lunch near Brunswick, Georgia. Later, a few miles after they’d crossed the Florida-Georgia border, Irv said, “That sign says we’re in Jacksonville.”

“That’s what the sign says, all right,” Chris said, “and it’s technically correct.”

“Why technically?”

“Because the City of Jacksonville and Duval County formed a consolidated government back in the sixties. So, except for four small municipalities that opted out of the consolidated government, once you’ve crossed the county line into Duval County, you’re in Jacksonville. Look at the terrain. Does that look like a city to you?”

“All I see are woods and water.”

“Exactly.”

“How do you know all that stuff?”

“It’s called research, my boy. Research. I’m going to be here for quite a while, so I did some reading up on the subject.”

“Oh. I guess that means you know where Mayport is, then, don’t you?”

“Yeah, and I’ll take you there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Nobody has to do anything. I said I’d get you to Mayport, and I’m going to do it.”

“Thanks.”

Just south of the airport, Chris turned off of I-95 onto I-295, and a few miles later he left the interstate and proceeded east on Heckscher Drive.

“Ever ridden on a ferry?” Chris said.

Irv giggled slightly and said, “I seem to recall riding one a couple of times last night and again this morning.”

“That’s F-E-R-R-Y, smartass,” Chris said.

“Then no, I’ve never ridden on an F-E-R-R-Y. Why do you ask?”

“Because this road takes us almost to the ocean, then we take a ferry across the St. Johns River, and we’ll be in Mayport.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“We shall see.”

There was a short wait at the ferry terminal while the incoming ferry docked and unloaded, but they were soon aboard and crossing the river. They got out of the car and walked across the deck to the railing. On the other side of the river they could see the mast of an aircraft carrier in the distance.

“We really are close to Mayport, aren’t we?” Irv said.

“Yeah. That carrier is docked in the Mayport Basin.”

“I really appreciate your driving me right up to the gate, Chris.”

“My pleasure, I assure you.”

“Where’s NAS in relation to Mayport?”

“On the other side of the city. Probably a good twenty-five miles or more.”

“Then I guess I won’t see you again,” Irv said.

“We might run into each other at the baths.”

“Oh, yeah. You told me about them. I’ve never been to a gay bathhouse before, have you?”

“A couple of times.”

“What are they like?”

“They’re all a bit different, but they’re also all the same, in that they offer a chance for anonymous s****l encounters.”

“I’ll have to give it a shot, once I learn my way around.”

“I think you can take a city bus to a downtown transfer point, then change to a different bus to get to the baths.”

“Damn, Chris. How much time did you spend doing that research?”

“Several days. Looks like they’re pretty close to docking this thing, so I guess we’d best get back to Mabel.” They returned to the car and were soon on a road that led to the entrance of Mayport Naval Station.

At the gate, Irv said, “No need to go on base, Chris, I can make it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I really appreciate the ride—and everything. Especially the everything.”

“Me too, buddy. Maybe I’ll see you at the baths one evening.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

Chris gave Irv a mock salute, then headed down the road to Atlantic Beach. From there he drove inland, eventually crossing the St. Johns River once again, getting a good view of downtown Jacksonville from a high-rise bridge in the process. He drove across town, made his way to US-17, known locally as Roosevelt Boulevard, and eventually came to the main entrance to NAS Jacksonville. Then he drove a couple of miles farther south to the suburb of Orange Park and checked in at a budget motel.

He stowed his duffel in his room and set out to explore the area. He’d asked Mickey to introduce him to the former f**k buddy who’d once lived in Jacksonville, and acting on advice from that guy, he began his exploration with the Riverside and Avondale neighborhoods, liking what he saw. He decided to have his evening meal at a local restaurant called The Loop—another recommendation—and pulled into the restaurant parking lot next to another Mustang just as two men were getting out of it. The other pony car was decades newer than Mabel, but not nearly as well kept. The two men were obviously waiting for him to exit Mabel, so he walked over to them.

“Two pony cars side by side,” Chris said by way of breaking the ice.

“Yeah, but yours looks like it’s in showroom condition,” the older man said. “I’m Quentin Quasar and this is my partner, Nate Braddock.”

“Hi. I’m Chris Bottoms. Partners, huh? I guess that means you are, as they say, family.”

“Yes, we are,” Quentin said.

“Good. So am I,” Chris said. “And speaking for Mabel, she thanks you for the compliment. She’s not as clean as she usually is right now, because I just drove her here from Norfolk.”

“Your car has a name!” Nate said. “That’s so cool. Care to join us for dinner?”

“Sure.”

Chris followed the two men into the restaurant, and while they waited in line he studied the menu.

“What do you guys recommend?”

“Everything is good,” Nate said. “But their grilled chicken sandwich is the best in town.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They placed their orders, and when the sandwiches were ready, they carried them out onto a deck that ran along the side of the building.

“We come here a lot,” Nate said. “The food is good, and the creek can be interesting when the tide is out.”

“Interesting how?”

“When there isn’t much left but mudflats and little pools, the sea birds get very active.”

“Oh.”

Chris learned that Quentin was a self-employed private investigator, and Nate split his time between teaching at a high school and helping Quentin with his business.

“Quentin keeps after me to stop teaching altogether and help him full time, but I enjoy the teaching almost as much as I enjoy working with him.”

Quentin asked Chris what had brought him to Jacksonville, and Chris told him. When he mentioned he was looking for a place to live, Quentin said, “Are you looking for an apartment?”

“Only if it includes a garage for Mabel. I was thinking more of a small two-bedroom house with a garage.”

“Give me a minute,” Quentin said.

He took out his cell phone and made a call. “Hi, Tom. Quentin here. … We’re both fine, how about you and Noah? … Didn’t you tell us that your rental house in Murray Hill is about to become vacant? … First of the month? … That’s good, because we have a prospect for you. We’re at The Loop right now, and he’s with us. Can we come by? … Good. See you in a few.”

Quentin looked at Chris. “That was a friend of ours, Tom Foster. He’s organist and choir director at the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd. He also performs in concert all over the place, and he’s a full professor at UNF—that’s the University of North Florida. His partner Noah is an opera singer and has performed at the Met in New York, at La Scala, and other places around the world. They’re a great couple.”

“And the rental house?” Chris said.

“It’s a two-bedroom brick bungalow in Murray Hill, and it has a garage.”

“Where’s Murray Hill?”

“You told us you’ve been exploring Riverside and Avondale, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ve been down Roosevelt Boulevard, which runs parallel to the railroad?”

“Sure.”

“Murray Hill is just across Roosevelt Boulevard, and the house is located in a nice middle-class section.”

“Sounds good.”

“Is everyone finished?” Quentin said.

“I’m good,” Chris said.

“Me too,” Nate said.

“Then let’s go see Tom and Noah,” Quentin said. “You can follow us, Chris. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Mabel and I will be right behind you.”